


Safety Switch

by releasetheglitch



Series: When We Start [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Safewords, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasetheglitch/pseuds/releasetheglitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hurts Q, but he never truly <i>hurts</i> Q. It's an important line that he would never purposefully cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety Switch

The fact of the matter was this: sometimes, Q liked to be hurt.

 

His skin sang louder at the sting of a paddle than the kiss of a rose petal. He snubbed chocolate truffles and red wine in favour of the taste of a fat cock forcing its way through hot lips, rubbing precum over his tongue and choking him with its cruel weight. The worship of another man at his throat left him feeling awkward and unsure, wishing he could be the one to get to his knees in praise and serve, any way his partner wanted it.

 

The fact of the matter was this: for all that the job is romanticized, being a killer for queen and country chipped away at one's soul until its darkest, twisted desires are revealed. If on some level, the thrill of a knife sinking into unyielding muscles or a bullet hole flowering on the forehead of another assassin didn't energize him, it was doubtful James Bond could ever be as successful as he is.

 

But with Q, it was different. He held wishbone wrists in his firm grasp and it hummed with the knowledge that he could break, he could destroy, he could overpower the skinny man spread out before him in a heartbeat but he didn't. Q gazed up with wide eyes and he lost himself in the unwavering trust in them. So he slapped and he teased, he left bruises and scratches and love marks on his willing canvas and it was nothing like the countless nameless faces he broke in his line of work. Q was vulnerable in his surrender and he treasured the body given willingly to his bloodied hands. A bear trap holding itself open under the pressure of a fawn's step. Feeling the blood rushing beneath soft skin yet never biting down.

 

In some way, he felt like it redeemed him.

 

He hurts Q, but he never truly _hurts_ Q. It's an important line that he would never purposefully cross.

 

"Ah! Sir!"

 

Q was hogtied hand and feet, scratchy twine biting deliciously into his skin whenever he struggled, no matter how minutely. The rest of his body was bound with the same material in a simple diamond harness that was more aesthetic than functional. James was a man of refined tastes, after all. A large black vibrator buzzed merrily inside Q, angled to press against his prostate mercilessly. He wasn't allowed to come, of course, purpling erection bound by a rubber ring that James would only remove if he was satisfied with Q's service.

 

Sometimes he wasn't, and he'd hold Q in the dark, falling asleep to the sound of his desperate sobs as the boy tried to will down his hardness. It was intoxicating on a wholly different level.

 

James tugged at the leash attached to Q's collar, revelling in the way his boy's head snapped up instantly at the silent command. Lovely, well-trained pup. Q was desperate, hips twitching in small, aborted motions as he fought the urge to grind against the bedspread.

 

"Enjoying yourself?" James drawled slowly, infusing his voice with just the right amount of dark grittiness to turn Q into a needy, quivering pile. Right on cue, Q whined, a high, clear sound that echoed pathetically in the small space of the bedroom. James rarely gagged his submissive during play, preferring to hear his moans and screams—both of pleasure and pain.

 

James stroked along the curve of Q’s spine and smiled as the boy struggled not to lean into the touch―the first bit of physical contact he’d been given all night. Desperate already. He liked that. He loved how tactile Q was, how the slightest of touches could send him into ecstasies.

 

Tonight, however, was not a night for slow and sensual. Without warning, his palm struck hard against Q’s arse while simultaneously tugging hard on the leash with his other hand. Q’s neck jerked forward as he gasped for breath, tilting his hips upwards to provide a better target for Bond’s hand. James smirked. Slut.

 

“Count,” he commanded. And Q made a keening sound deep in his throat that sounded as if he was dying. Unperturbed, James struck again, admiring the way flesh jiggled and blushed pink under his ministrations.

 

“One, sir! Thank you sir!” Q choked out, his normally controlled voice rough and wild. James could hear his cock dripping, leaking precum all over the bed covers.

 

He landed blow after blow, letting Q’s increasing strained counts wash over him like smooth jazz. Q was beautifully responsive, undulating under the spanks like a man possessed. His bounds ensured he was unable to move away but he still leaned into the blows as best as he could, moaning like a harlot. By the end of it James’ hand was stinging and his cock straining uncomfortably under the expensive fabric of his trousers. Q’s arse was a fetching shade of red, glowing with heat when James rested a hand on the abused flesh.

 

Still, that wasn’t enough. They rarely had time for full scenes, what with Bond’s unpredictable schedule as a spy and Q’s tendency to work overtime on whichever project caught his fancy. Whenever they did have time to plan out a scene, Q wanted to be challenged. Pushed to the very edge of his limits under James’ unyielding hand.

 

Without warning, James tugged the vibrator out his arse. The small hole spasmed, gaping open under his hungry gaze and Q whined in disappointment. On a whim, James slapped it lightly with two fingers, chuckling when it twitched again. Q’s whines grew louder.

 

“Shh, baby. You want something to fill up that greedy hole?” James purred. Q nodded pleadingly, eyes wide and puppy-like and pink lips trembling as if he was going to cry if he didn’t get something in him at that very instant. James waved a fresh dildo in front of him tauntingly, this one thinner and shorter than the vibrator he’d had earlier. Still, Q fixated on it, rasping breaths punched out of his chest in need. “Gotta earn it then. Open up.”

 

Q obliged instantly, closing his lips around the dildo and sucking so hard his cheeks hollowed, eyes slipping closed in bliss. James petted his head. “Good boy.” The encouragement only made Q work harder, the most obscene squelching noises coming out of his mouth.

 

For a moment, James envied the dildo. He was well acquainted to Q’s skills with his mouth. How Q was always so eager to swallow him to the root, tears gathering on his eyelashes as he choked on his cock, throat working to accommodate his length. How his quick tongue knew intimately all of Bond’s weaknesses, flicking deftly over the head and the vein on the underside of his cock. And the noises he made, reminiscent of a starving man at a feast, drinking down his seed like it was ambrosia. Perhaps he would use his mouth later that night. Or tomorrow morning, eating breakfast in bed with a willing mouth around his cock. Never say that James Bond doesn’t know how to indulge.

 

Returning to the matter at hand, with Q’s mouth occupied, James diverted his attention to the rest of his body. First, a check of the ropes: he rubbed Q’s hands and feet gently, examining the skin carefully for any discolouration, a sure sign of lost circulation. There was none. Q could probably last another hour or so in the ropes before he had to untie him, and James had plenty of ideas for how they could spend that time.

 

Pulling out a small bucket of clothespins from under the bed, he made sure Q’s attention was wholly focused on the dildo in his mouth before attaching the first one to a small strip of skin on his right side, right next to his stomach.

 

Q made a startled sound and twisted his neck, trying to see what was going on behind him. James slapped him again, harder than the blows he had used before. “Don’t look,” he warned and like the good boy he is, Q turned back around immediately.

 

Two lines of clothespins were eventually fixed to him, each one running from his hips to just below the delicate skin of his armpits. Q’s eyes were glazed over, breathing shallowly in order to prevent the clothespins from moving and pinching his sides. Well, that just wouldn’t do.

 

“Ready for your prize?” James asked, and without waiting for an answer plunged three fingers into the heat of Q’s hole. He was deliciously tight, despite having a vibrator up his arse for the better part of an hour while James worked him over, and he was still wet with lubricant. As soon as the fingers were inside, Q’s anus clenched around them, sucking them in.

 

Another slap on Q’s arse as James stopped his movements. “Greedy little slut,” he scolded, and only began to move again when Q relaxed his hole. He kept up a slow rhythm for a while, pumping his fingers in and out gently. Only when Q’s attention began to drift again did he bumped up hard against his prostate, yanking off one of the clothespins as he did so.

 

Q shrieked, spasming hard at the unexpected pleasure-pain. The spittle-covered dildo fell out of his mouth and rolled onto the floor and for a brief moment James imagined picking it up and shoving it back in, fixing it in place with a strip of duct tape so Q couldn’t dislodge it again. He decided against it, in the end. He wanted to hear his screams.

 

Despite knowing Bond’s intentions now, Q couldn’t predict when the next assault on his body would come, and he squealed again as James pulled the next clothespin off, pressing firmly against his prostate as he did so. “Sir, I need…” he begged, sentence trailing off as James did it again.

 

James shushed him gently. “You don’t need anything except what I give you. Isn’t that right, boy?” One-two-three more clothespins and that was all Bond could handle, he needed to be inside the gorgeous boy immediately.

 

Q genuinely sounded as though he was losing his mind when James finally slid home inside that perfect heat. He set a bruising pace immediately, already knowing he wouldn’t last long. He could feel his bollocks slapping against Q’s heated arse and pounded harder, wanting Q to be able to feel it for days afterwards.

 

The last three clothespins came off at once as James growled, painting Q’s walls with his seed. Q buckled, a wild animal struggling against his bonds. James was so consumed by the waves of pleasure that he couldn’t feel the ropes slacken underneath him.

 

But he did hear the ripping sound of rough rope sliding across skin. And Q’s resulting scream. Not of pleasure this time, high and keening, in shock and pain.

 

James leapt up instantly, afterglow instantly forgotten. His heart stopped when Q gasped out, “novocaine.”

 

He couldn’t even spare a minute for self-recrimination before he was loosening the knots, pulling the ropes off of Q and undoing his cock ring. Turning Q over, he winced at the line of red blisters on Q’s stomach.

 

“Do you want to walk?” James asked him quietly. At the resulting head shake, he gathered Q into his arms and carried him, bridal-style, into the bathroom. Shifting Q’s weight onto one arm, he turned on the shower with the other, adjusting the temperature until the water was warm, but not too hot.

 

They sat under the showers, James gently washing Q’s hair for him as Q leaned against him, eyes closed and breathing deeply. There were no stray fibres of rope in Q’s wound but Bond still splashed water over the area, making sure all the bacteria and dirt were gone. Neither of them spoke.

 

It wasn’t until after the shower and Q was wiped dry, wrapped in a clean towel and lying on the bed while Bond dabbed antibiotic cream over the wound that he finally broke the silence. “I’m so sorry, Q.”

 

Bleary eyes opened and stared at him, and as unfocused and hazy as they were, James could still read the exasperation in them. “‘S not your fault,” Q mumbled.

 

A laugh escaped him, dry and humourless. “I should have checked the knots again.” There were lots of things he could have done. Check in with Q again, use softer ropes, tied the knots better―

 

Q’s hand, floppy and uncoordinated, smacked against him and he looked up in surprise, dropping the tube of cream on the bed. “Not your fault,” insisted Q again, glaring now. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

 

“Still, I hurt you, Q. And not in the good way. I don’t ever want to do that.” James busied himself with wrapping white gauze around Q’s stomach, not wanting to meet his gaze.

 

Q snorted, climbing into his lap as soon as he’d finished. On reflex James wrapped his arms around him and Q leaned up to kiss him. His aim was still a bit off, so the sloppy kiss landed on his chin. “I forgive you.”

 

The heartfelt words prodded at something inside of him and James could feel his chest getting tight as tears sprung to his eyes. Not wanting Q to see his uncharacteristic display of emotion, he buried his face in his hair, ignoring the wetness of the strands. He really, really didn’t deserve this wonderful, kind, brilliant boy.

 

“Thinkin’ too loud,” Q grumbled, and James had to smile at that. Q, after a scene, rarely talked, and when he did it was usually in monosyllables. It meant a lot to him that Q was making an effort to sooth him now.

 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself together. Q was the one who’d been taken violently out of his headspace; he’s the one who should be comforted and cuddled. “Just a moment, sweetheart?” he asked, and gently extricated himself from the bed when Q nodded. He made sure to wrap Q up burrito-style before leaving.

 

James fixed all of Q’s favourite comfort foods in the kitchen: tea with plenty of honey dripped in and grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup. Putting everything onto a serving tray, he returned to the bedroom. Once Q finished eating, they would cuddle and go to sleep, and the next morning he would take Q to the Apple store so he could sneer at the genius bar workers, and buy him the cat he’s always been talking about, shedding be damned, and bring back all of his equipment for the next six months…

He almost dropped the tray when he saw Q, sans towel, leaning against the headboard of their bed. “What―”

 

“It occurs to me,” said Q lazily, “that you still haven’t allowed me an orgasm yet.” His eyes twinkled. “Sir.”

 

Ah, that was true. Bond set the tray down carefully on the nightstand, considering. The swath of bandages on Q’s stomach dampened the mood a bit, not to mention Q had already taken a lot that night and was definitely not in any shape for anything rougher. Making his choice, he sat down, pulling Q to sit in his lap, facing away from him. “How do you want to come?” he whispered in his ear.

 

Q tilted his head back, turning so he could brush his lips against the stubble on James’ cheek. “Your hand?” he asked hopefully.

 

“I can do that,” James smiled, taking Q’s semi-hard cock into his palm and stroking leisurely. Q buckled as the organ grew firm, driving his cock forward hard and James stilled him with another kiss. Their lips met sweetly, so at odds with the way the evening had begun, and the kiss stretched on as Q finally spilled himself in Bond’s hand with a dreamy sigh. James tasted the pleased desire in his mouth, and it warmed him.

 

Q sagged against him, bones seemingly liquefied. James wiped them both clean with the abandoned towel and pulled the blankets over them. Q’s collar was slightly askew and he adjusted it lovingly, as easily as if he was fixing Q’s necktie for him before going to work. “Love you,” he murmured.

 

Q hummed in agreement, turning his attention to the food on the nightstand. “Feed me now,” he demanded. And James laughed, ripping the sandwiches into chunks so he could hand feed Q.

 

They were both tired and Q fell asleep before even finishing his last sip of tea. James wiped away the liquid from the corner of his mouth tenderly, before scooting down the bed to lie down properly.

 

He was Q’s dom, and Q was his sub, and despite the obvious power differential they took equal care of each other. In times like this, with Q’s soft snores drowning out the old urge to bury guilt in drink and sex, that fact has never been clearer.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to make a request for anything else in the series, feel free to do so!


End file.
